Emergency
by Bellum Gerere
Summary: Outtake from "Assassin." Do not have to have read that to read this. Alice relives the events that led to Lydia's death and, in part, her alcoholism. AH/AU, so OOC you won't believe it. Originally written for Fandom4Texas.


_So, technically we're not supposed to post these until tomorrow, but other people have already posted them, and I don't know if I'll be online tomorrow. To let you all know, because of the album challenge I will not be updating much this year, though my top priority besides the challenge will be to finish "Assassin." As for what's coming up next there…I don't want to give away any major plot points, but there will be more secrets, a surprising revelation for Alice, and the death of a major character. (No, not Ali or Jas. I couldn't bear to kill either of them.) Anyway, I'll try to update once a month, but to tide you over until I finish writing about Wyatt (remember him?) is this outtake. There is minor spoilage, to warn you before you continue, but it won't be anything I wouldn't reveal in the next few chapters anyway. Consider yourself ahead of the game-you know things Jas doesn't._

_Happy New Year! =)_

_-A.l.y._

_PS. This outtake was originally donated to Fandom4Texas wildfire relief. I left the original heading on it so you can see the banner that the wonderful Christag_banners designed. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. _

**Title: Emergency: An **_**Assassin**_** Outtake**  
><strong>Rating: M<strong>  
><strong>Summary: Outtake from <strong>_**Assassin. **_**Alice relives the events that lead to her alcoholism and her mother's untimely death.**  
><strong>Warnings: Alcoholism (substance abuse), murder, smut<strong>  
><strong>Banner link: <strong>**http:/christagbanners(dot)blogspot(dot)****  
>Banner designer: Christag_banners<strong>

**Emergency**

**An _Assassin_ Outtake**

**Alice Brandon**

**Friday, October 20, 2006**

**11:48 PM**

**Party at the Crowley Household**

A darkly tanned hand set the shot glass in front of me, and I snapped it up automatically. It spilled on my fingers, over my lips, but most of it slid down my throat, where it burned as it traveled. I was raw and sore, and my head still ached with the remains of this morning's hangover, but I didn't care.

Never before had pain tasted so wonderful.

"Rough night?" I looked up at the guy tending the makeshift bar whose only stool I had occupied for far too long. Around me, the party was still in full swing, but people were starting to drift out. What time was it? Midnight? Later? I'd lost track after my fifth shot.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," I responded in what I hoped was a cool manner. I had no desire to relive the events that brought me to this point.

He raised an eyebrow and set another glass in front of me, diverting my attention momentarily. When I set it back down, satisfaction burning in my throat, he said "Don't you remember me, Ali?"

I blinked and forced myself to focus on his face. Just as tan as his hand, with brown eyes that watched me expectantly. I shook my head, holding back a groan at the pain it caused.

"It's me. Tyler." When it was obvious I still couldn't remember, he said, "We had sex last week."

Oh. No wonder he looked so familiar.

I nodded like I remembered it. "Oh, right. Tyler. Can I have another shot now?"

He grimaced but complied, even readying another glass if I started to feel like I wasn't drunk enough. I had the sense that I would need it, too. This was how I spent the majority of my waking hours-intoxicated or with a hangover.

With that glass I finally reached the point where I started to forget things. My sense of self was slipping away, and never had I been so happy to have it leave me.

I jumped as someone's hands slid around my waist, gently urging me away from the bar. I started to panic-how was I going to get my fix now?-until I turned my head and caught a glimpse of my captor.

"Edward," I mumbled as he picked me up and started to walk toward the door. "Put me down. I'm trying to get drunk."

"You're already drunk, Ali." The rocking motion of his body did interesting things to me. I felt like I was going to be sick, but on the other hand...

I reached up and let my hand fall on his neck. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth but kept walking. Clearly, that wasn't enough. I let it slide down to his chest, and he slowed.

"Ali, we can't do that here," he protested.

"No," I agreed. "We can't...but you have a car."

His eyes widened, lips parted, shocked into momentary silence. I could see I had struck a nerve and left it vibrating. His hands tightened around me, and he carried me out the door.

~oOo~

**Saturday, October 21, 2006**  
><strong>7:44 AM<strong>  
><strong>Brandon Mansion<strong>

I knew the second I woke up that it was too early. My head throbbed with a full-on hangover and someone was moving in the bed next to me, setting my stomach on edge. I felt a hand touch my shoulder and instinctively flinched away, an action left over from when all the world was darkness and water and knives. But it was bright. No trace of shadow. I opened my eyes.

Brightness immediately assaulted me, and I squinted against it, fighting to keep my eyes open. Blue walls, blue floor, blankets tangled around me. My head hurt, my heart hurt. My lungs ached with every breath I drew in. I was staring at the door. The owner of the hand was behind me. I reached up and grabbed it. My grip was feeble, all my strength sapped by craving. He turned his hand over so mine could rest in it.

I felt puckered skin under my fingers, a scar just above his wrist. No, this was now who I'd expected. They'd switched places in the middle of the night. I sent a silent thank-you to Edward and carefully rolled over, opening my eyes fully.

"Peter." I reached out to stroke his hair, golden against my pale skin. Peter Hale. The man I loved.

"Alice." He smiled as I brushed across his lips. I felt it, wonderfully real and solid, as he kissed me. "You're hungover."

The memory of last night came back. "Thanks for reminding me." He smiled again, and laughed, and suddenly my headache seemed a little less...intrusive.

He fell silent. My eyes throbbed with light. "How are you coping?"

I knew he would bring it up sooner or later. "Not very well." Like my alcoholism wasn't proof enough. I would never get past the fact that I killed my sister.

Everyone told me it wasn't my fault. It was his fault, the other driver, the one who ran a red light and hit us, killing her on impact. But I'd been driving. I'd survived. And every second I lived the stain of her blood grew on my hands.

"You didn't have to answer," he said. I buried my face in his chest, away from the light, and tried not to hear his next words. "It wasn't your fault, Ali. You need to move on."

I was spared the pain of answering by a knock on the door. Peter held a finger to his lips and disappeared into my closet. I waited until he was no longer visible to yell "come in." My mother entered the room.

Despite what everyone (except Peter) claimed, we looked nothing alike. She was tan skin and light hair and green eyes and normality. I was pale skin and dark hair and blue eyes and sadness. We hated each other. We had ever since Peter had gotten me pregnant.

"How are you?" she asked. Her voice dripped fake sympathy. I resisted the lure of imitation comfort and shut myself in.

"Fantastic." Of course, my bloodshot eyes and headache tended to contradict that statement. Her own eyes narrowed as she examined every visible inch of me.

"You're hungover," she announced. I could imagine Peter in the closet, shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Really? That's a shocker."

"Where were you last night?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

"You're just like your father," she spat at me. We had become her favorite subjects of ridicule, and I was constantly being compared to him. "He was a lazy alcoholic too. One night he went out for a drink and never came back." She paused to throw in a glare for added emphasis. "I hope the same happens to you."

The second the door clicked shut behind her Peter was on the edge of the bed, reaching out to hold me as I started to cry.

"Was he really like that?" I whispered, voice cracking.

"He wasn't as bad as your mother makes him out to be. But he was an alcoholic, yes."

"Can you tell me about him?"

"Oh, honey." He put my face in the crook of his neck, where I could feel his throat vibrating as he spoke. "What I just told you was the truth. But he's still not someone you want to know."

~oOo~

**Monday, October 23, 2006**

**6:33 AM**

**Brandon Mansion**

This is how my day usually started: the honking of a car horn followed by a loud yell of "Get the fuck up, Alice!" that somehow managed to permeate the thick walls. It was my cue to rush through whatever sort of morning routine I might want to go through, one that might take up to an hour on a normal day.

I usually had about ten minutes before she would come and drag me out. Clothes, makeup, hair, a drink-ten minutes for all of that. The hair and makeup I could skip most mornings. Clothes were usually a t-shirt and jeans, unless it was a Friday and I had to wear my cheerleading uniform. And, of course, a drink was essential for a budding alcoholic. Most people my age had coffee in the morning. I had a beer.

"Alice! Come on!" Thoroughly flustered, I threw on a pair of light gray jeans, a purple cami, a green plaid shirt that I left partially unbuttoned. She would like that. I grabbed a beer from the minifridge hidden in my closet, shoved it in my bag, and ran out the door.

A bright red BMW was waiting in the circle drive, top up against the oncoming rain. Inside it was one of my favorite people in the world-Peter's daughter, Rosalie Hale. My girlfriend.

"Hey," I said, sliding into the passenger seat. The beer was opened and halfway to my mouth when she grabbed my wrist. I looked up at her blonde-haired-brown-eyed perfection and glanced away quickly.

"Nice view." I didn't need to look to know she was staring down my shirt. Her lips pressed into my hair, on my forehead, my cheek. "Turn around, Ali," she whispered. "Let me see your pretty face."

I couldn't help doing what she wanted. As soon as I faced her she latched her lips onto my own. I felt no guilt over the fact that I was in love with her father. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Somebody will see us," I protested halfheartedly when she moved her lips down to my neck. "People will talk."

"I don't care, baby. Let them."

"You going to risk your family's reputation just for me? I'm nor worth it, Rosie. Just start driving."

She might have glared a little as she started the car. For whatever reason, the thought amused me.

~oOo~

**Monday, October 23, 2006**

**2:42 PM**

**Amber Falls High School**

Ah, high school-or as I liked to call it, nearly hell. There had been no nearly at one point, back when I was excited to have a normal life. But then Wyatt died. Then Cindy. And suddenly I wasn't grateful anymore. Besides, I had nothing to look forward to there. No friends I was overly excited to see. A lot of rude comments aimed at me in the hall, said by people who didn't know pain, who had no cares. Who were free.

I was glad when Edward walked up to me after school that day, until I saw the worried and desperate look on his face. Of course, he was always worried about something, but i was fully prepared to take him seriously. I was the only person who ever did.

"I think someone's after me," he whispered urgently once we'd locked ourselves in his car.

"You always think someone's after you," I teased lightly. "Why should this time be any different?"

He pulled out a heavily creased piece of paper and handed it to me. My heart stopped as I read it.

_Dear Edward Cullen,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to become a member of the Volturi. We have been monitoring you for several weeks and decided you fit our criteria. In order to join you must commit a murder with one of the enclosed weapons by Friday, October 27, or face certain death._

_Sincerely,_

_Aro_

And under it was a hastily handwritten note:

_Feel free to invite Miss Brandon along_.

I handed the paper back to him and tried to disguise how much my hands were shaking. "You're not really taking this seriously, are you?"

"But Alice, I know him. He's one of my d-Carlisle's friends." He always seemed to forget that I was on first-name terms with his parents.

"Yes, and it's probably not him. A joke. Someone using his name."

"They gave me a gun, Alice! A gun and a really sharp knife, I cut myself opening the package. What am I supposed to make of that?"

A gun. They gave Edward a gun. I buried my face in my hands. "Maybe this is more serious than I thought."

"It is. I'm glad you realize that."

"I need a drink." His laugh drowned out my sigh. "So what do we do?"

"I don't know." Maybe it was because I'd never seen him look so hopeless, but I jumped in.

"I'll do it."

His head snapped up, and he stared at me in disbelief. "What?"

"I'll do it, Edward. Instead of you. Listen," I insisted as he opened his mouth. "I've already got two people's blood on my hands. It would be no problem."

"Cindy wasn't your fault, Alice," he said wearily. "Neither was Wyatt. Their deaths were accidental."

"Call it what you want?" He'd spent every waking moment trying to convince me I was innocent. Needless to say, it hadn't worked.

"Really. I mean it."

"I know you do." I turned to look out the window as he started the car, and all the way to my house he didn't speak.

~oOo~

**Tuesday, October 24, 2006**

**10:13 PM**

**Brandon Mansion**

"They sent him a gun?" Peter asked in disbelief. His forehead creased a little, the way it always did when he was confused.

"And a knife," I reminded him. My voice was muffled, due to the fact that I had buried my face in his chest. "A really sharp one apparently. Almost killed himself getting it out of the package."

"Who do you think he would…you know?"

"Someone who had no chance at living anyway. He's good like that."

He fell silent for a moment, apparently pondering something. Then, in a voice almost too soft to be heard, he asked, "Who would you?"

I bit my lip. "Well, I can think of a few people my life would be better without. But I don't think I could kill any of them."

"Am I one of them?"

An answer that would require some effort. He looked like he knew it already. "I don't want you dead." Pause. "But i can't deny that my life would be better without you. At least now." I stared up at him. "You saved me."

"I know." He sounded positively miserable. It wasn't like him at all.

"You're crashing my pity party," I mumbled, and he laughed.

"I was just thinking…that maybe if I'd never met you, things would be better."

"And I would be dead!" I sat up, ignoring the sharp, freshly-cut pain in my back. "You saved all of us, and i ruined it."

"You didn't kill your sister." Another awkward pause. They were a little too numerous for my liking. "Or our son."

"Yes, I did," I whispered. "I killed him, Peter."

"It's been two years," he chided gently, at the same time his arms tightened around me. "I try to live without him, Ali. You should too."

I started to relax in his arms. "I miss him."

"I do, too."

I realized I hadn't even known him for a year, but he ws the best thing that had ever happened to me. Not according to Lydia, who had feared for my life more than his and hated me for letting it happen. I didn't care what she had to say. It felt too right to be wrong.

And then, just like would happen to everyone else I loved, he died.

~oOo~

**Wednesday, October 25, 2006**

**11:39 PM**

**Murder Alley**

**FIRST ATTEMPT**

"Nobody's going to be out this late," I hissed as we crouched in the side doorway of an abandoned building. "Everyone's gone home from work or whatever the fuck normal people do."

"No, I've seen this guy. He walks right by me every day. Well, the house, our house, you know." (When Edward got nervous he over-explained things a bit.) "And I traced him for a few days and found this place. Perfect for us to hide. He'll come right by it, Ali, I promise."

"You better be right." I gripped the knife with unnecessary force. Hopefully I wouldn't need it. Just the idea of murder terrified me.

"Alice." I felt his hand, which had been wrapped around my arm for the past half hour, tightened until I could almost feel the blood flow being cut off. "I'm scared."

"What, and I'm not?" It was a rude thing to say, but a true one…though, in hindsight, I was better prepared for this than he was. I, Peter had informed me, was already showing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. One more trauma to aid my drinking habit wouldn't hurt.

"Here he comes!" He gripped my arm to tightly I started to lose consciousness. I forced it off and leaned just a little out the door.

Edward was right. Victim #1 was walking in front of the alley. I would be able to kill him at any moment.

So why couldn't I make myself move?

"Alice!' he said through clenched teeth. "Do it now!"

"I can't, Edward." The knife slipped through my frozen fingers and clattered to the ground. "I can't."

~oOo~

**Thursday, October 26, 2006**

**2:59 PM**

**Amber Falls High School**

**SECOND ATTEMPT**

Guns were messy. They were loud and obvious and hard to conceal. I already knew that I would prefer the knife, which was covered and hidden in my bag. I had a victim picked out-Sophie Michelle Sutherland, high school senior. She would be missed. I would be saved.

The only problem with that was I couldn't kill anyone, not even to save my own life.

There was a bathroom in the oldest wing of the building that no one wanted to use, and I would lure her there acting like I was in danger. If everything went well, she would be dead and no one would be able to link me with the murder.

I knew my hands were shaking. My pulse raced lightning-quick and I could feel it in my wrists, in my chest. I was hyperventilating. If I tried to stop I would die of asphyxiation. Or of too much air. Could you die of too much air?

I screamed as loud as I could.

Immediately there were footsteps racing toward me. it couldn't be anyone else-Edward had been leading her in my direction; no one would come here voluntarily. My hand slipped into my pocket, and I clutched the knife with a death grip.

Everything was starting to blur. When she came in all I saw was red hair. She was fast, but I was faster: I had her pinned up against the wall, blade at her throat, before either of us fully realized what was going on.

The rhythm of our breathing matched. Her eyes were wide and startled and afraid. How could I do this to someone with so much life left?

"Listen," I whispered. "You need to get out of here. They'll know you know about us, and they'll come after you."

She blinked and looked confused, but since I was holding a knife to her throat, she would not argue with me. "Okay. I'll leave. I'll leave right now."

"No, you have to leave town. Get out. Far enough away that they can't find you."

One of my favorite things about Sophie was that she was trusting. She nodded and repeated, "I'll leave right now."

"Good." I hesitated, then lowered my voice again. "You know you can't come back. It's too much to hope that they'll forget about you. But if you ever need a safe place…my address is in the phone book. So is Peter Hale's. You'll be fine with either one of us."

I lowered the knife so she could stop out from under it and leave. All I could think was that I hoped she would go to Peter's house, because by the time she needed help I would be dead.

~oOo~

**Friday, October 27, 2006**

**5:44 PM**

**Amber Falls High School**

I didn't notice the dark circles under my eyes until Rosie pointed them out. Of course she could tell when I hadn't been sleeping. She would want to know why. For this reason I had sandwiched myself between the Benevides twins, Nettie and Lucy, and was ignoring their casual chatter as I pulled on my uniform. Besides, if things went the way I thought they would tonight, I wouldn't need sleep.

As far as my attempt to remain unnoticed by Rosie went, she spotted me when I got on the bus. "You look tired, baby," she said, taking the empty seat next to me. I turned and stared out the window.

"Hey." She forced me to face her. We were inches apart. Anywhere else people would've noticed. "What's wrong, Ali?"

"Nothing."

'That's bullshit and you know it. Tell me."

"I don't have to tell you everything, Rose."

It was the first time I'd ever not called her Rosie. She'd noticed, too.

"Fine." She faced away form me, and we didn't speak for the rest of the night.

~oOo~

**Friday, October 27, 2006**

**10:36 PM**

**Brandon Mansion**

"We're dead," Edward moaned, staring at the gun that I had placed on the table with the utmost precision. We were in my living room. One dim lamp on, because I had a headache so bad I could barely see, but I kept drinking. If I was going to die, then dammit, I was going to die happy.

"I know. You need to accept it." I took another long pull, draining whatever beer had been left in the bottle. "I have. Can you get me another one of these?"

But, to my great surprise, he took the bottle form my hand and threw it agains the wall, where it chipped paint and spilled broken glass all over the floor. "Why did they have to send me that fucking letter?" he yelled. "Why did they have to drag you into this.? You don't deserve it." He buried his head in his hands; I could tell by the way his shoulders shook that he was crying. I didn't want to tell him to calm down. How could I be so hypocritical? If I hadn't been drunk I would've been acting the same way.

Then, all of a sudden-_click_. We both heard it. Edward jumped up and turned the lamp off. I snatched the gun off the table and held it poised to shoot, my eyes squinted halfway shut.

We thought it was a robber. Owning the biggest house in town had hazards like that. We'd been broken into more than once. If I killed a robber, I realized-someone who wanted to cause harm-it wouldn't be on my conscience. But…if they were like I had been, and all they wanted was food…

I hesitated, but my resolve did not waver. I didn't want to think about how, nearly dead, I'd been forced to steal food-which was not entirely a bad thing, because I'd met Peter that way. I wanted to keep myself alive, and Edward. If that meant the robber would die, so be it.

The side door opened. Unusual choice for someone who might normally come in through a window-and not make any noise. Light from outside illuminated a silhouette. There was no time to hesitate anymore.

I shot.

The noise was unbelievably loud as the bullet found its mark in the intruder's heart. My ears were ringing, my head pounding, all thoughts of alcohol numbing the kill forgotten. I was going to die anyway, the guilt alone would kill me. Edward took the gun from my shaking hands and set it down.

"I-I just-"

"I know," he said. "Don't talk."

He waited until I stopped shaking (though he made no attempt to comfort me), then started to edge his way towards the body.

"No!" I cried. My knees felt weak. I needed to sit down.

"I'll be fine. You need to calm down, Ali." He picked up again, at a slow but steady pace, until his shoes touched the edge of the bloodstain creeping over the carpet and he froze. I supposed he could see the face. It was an odd thing, knowing who you killed.

"Ali," he whispered, motioning me forward.

"No." I was shaking my head in denial, backing up until my legs hit the couch and I fell over. "No, no." It was someone I knew, I could see it in his face. "No, no, no." What if it was Peter?

"Ali, you have to see it." He moved towards the light switch. My steady whimper turned into a scream as I saw the body of Lydia Brandon, lying on the floor.

In time the scream turned into broken sobbing. Edward carried me up to my room so I wouldn't have to look at her, but I knew she was there. I hurt all over. Breathing was pain. He tried to convince me to take a drink of water, but I refused. A drink of beer-even that didn't work. Finally, he called Peter.

The police came up. Someone had heard the shot. There were sirens and flashing lights, but he told them to leave me alone. I was in shock.

It was a huge relief to hear him shouting at the cops to let him through until I heard another familiar voice-Rosie's. He'd brought her. She was going to ruin everything, I knew it. It was better, though, that she found out sooner rather than later.

"Ali!" she yelled as she burst into the room. I stood up from the bed and pushed her aside, muttering "Get the fuck out of my way, Rosie." Hopefully the use of her nickname let her know she was forgiven, that I still loved her as I flung myself into her father's arms.

~oOo~

**Saturday, October 28, 2006**

**3:15 AM**

**Brandon Mansion**

It was a matter of time, Edward said, before they came for us, given that we had successfully completed their little task. Needless to say, I didn't believe him. Not until they came to my house that morning.

He was staying with me, because without him I would be alone, so we both heard it. Doors were opening, floorboards creaking. Someone was coming up the stairs. We knew who it was.

Aro entered the room in a whirl of black and white, stopping over the bed to stare at us. His eyes were a deep black, covered in the film of partial blindness. He smiled wickedly at us, and Edward glared back.

"Well," Aro said in a voice that was overly sweet. In his hand he carried a sharp knife. "It's nice to see you, Mr. Cullen. Miss Brandon. I see you received my note."

"What do you want?" Edward snarled.

"I am merely here to mark you as one of us. Unless, of course, you want to die."

We froze. Personally, I favored life over death, even life as it was now. I squeezed Edward's arm, trying to convey this to him.

"Fine," he said. "Mark us."

"Hold out your wrists." He moved to Edward first and did something I couldn't see. i heard him, though, as he hissed in pain. Something dripped onto the comforter. He sent him away and moved on to me.

I held out my wrists, my hands clenched tightly. He ran his finger up my arm and down my chest, stopping over my heart. A small smile crossed his lips. I remained silent and still, even though everything in me was screaming to run.

Then there ws pain.

A small gasp.

Blood dripping down my wrists.

Two cuts.

They formed a V.

One side on each wrist.

It was over.

I was marked.


End file.
